


The Man, The Legend, The Master Of Ceremonies

by OhBelieveYouMe



Category: Cabaret (1972), Cabaret - Kander/Ebb
Genre: Cabarets, Gen, I just really love The EmCee, Other, The Master Of Ceremonies - Freeform, headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 23:07:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10796661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhBelieveYouMe/pseuds/OhBelieveYouMe
Summary: A listing of headcanons / ficlets regarding The EmCee of The Kit Kat KlubIdeas explored: favorite tunes, sleepy antics, that competitive streak, a couple personal preferences, & the reason why the Kit Kat girls hide their favorite lipstick tubes within their dressing rooms…“I’ll show you later~”





	The Man, The Legend, The Master Of Ceremonies

**Author's Note:**

> (major shoutout to [**@justraulesparza**](https://justraulesparza.tumblr.com/) for letting me use some really great Cabaret GIFs she’s created: check out her EmCee Sets [**1**](https://justraulesparza.tumblr.com/post/158713677219/ra%C3%BAl-esparza-in-cabaret-1) / [**2**](https://justraulesparza.tumblr.com/post/158819797349/ra%C3%BAl-esparza-in-cabaret-2) / [**3**](https://justraulesparza.tumblr.com/post/158898374079/ra%C3%BAl-esparza-in-cabaret-3).)

> _[in case you missed the memo:](http://ohbelieveyoume.tumblr.com/post/160208097472/anons-requested-emcee-headcanon-qa) _

##  **I LOVE OUR MASTER OF CEREMONIES…**

* * *

  * **2-4 songs that are probably on their iPod**



- [“I Wanna Be Loved By You”](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DhclK-UKJNgk&t=NzdjNDAwMjA5ODc0YTM2OTQyNWMxMjQ3MmVkZmM3ZmIxYWRmYzQ0MyxYaE90VldYcg%3D%3D&b=t%3A-6sH4uy_9dNKCnNg27FeRg&p=http%3A%2F%2Fohbelieveyoume.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F160208097472%2Fanons-requested-emcee-headcanon-qa&m=1) \- Helen Kane ( _& bet your ass he sings this to cheer up the girls whenever any of them are feeling down;)_

> _“Awee, Lulu, why you poutin?”_
> 
> _Busy fingers went to work lacing up her shoes, hooking garter belt clips to her hose: “Not now, Em,” she sniffled despite herself, “please-”_
> 
> _He mirrored her plumped pout, so close to her now that their noses nearly touched: forced his lips to be bolder so as to showcase just how silly she looked. “But, Lulu; **~I wanna be loved by you-** ”_
> 
> _“Em, don’t.” She gave a gentle push to his hip, hoping he’d leave her be to rot in her melancholy- oh, but she should have known much better._
> 
> _“ **Just youuuu~** ” His fingertips trailed over her shoulder blades, until he snapped at her bra strap; “~ **an’ nobody else but you.** ”_
> 
> _Pouty Lulu chewed hard on the inside of her lip, trying to bite back her smile while he promenaded around her chair. It didn’t work; that frown twist upside down once he was behind her, she could see him sashaying his hips in the mirror along to the tune he was still humming. That satisfied grin on his face proved he noticed her surreptitious smirk._
> 
> _“ **I wanna’ be loved by you, alooooone~** ” He rocked down, pecked a kiss on her cheek to leave a royal lip print over her rouge. “ **Boop, boop,** ” a poke at her nose, then he grabbed hold of her chin, craned her face up so she had no option other than to look her pretty reflection in the face. “ **Be doop.** ”  
> _
> 
> _After his silly rendition, Lulu couldn’t help but smile.  
>  She left his lip print on her cheek for most of the show that night.  
> _

- [“Has Anybody Seen My Gal?”](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3Dlkgxwf6kMzY&t=MThhZTFjY2ZjNTdhMjM3MzgzMzQ4YzQ4YzcwNzNmMGQ5YmU4N2MzOCxYaE90VldYcg%3D%3D&b=t%3A-6sH4uy_9dNKCnNg27FeRg&p=http%3A%2F%2Fohbelieveyoume.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F160208097472%2Fanons-requested-emcee-headcanon-qa&m=1) \- Art Landry ( _This one, he whistles, when he’s in search of a certain dancer. Makes them all start looking for the others- Good ole’ Pavlov would’a been proud, Em sure was…)  
_

- [“It All Depends on You”](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DnxAC3lONBMA&t=ZDY3NmYxN2M4Mjg4NWI2MWFlNDYxYWI2MTJlNDAwZjgzOWE5YTc2NyxYaE90VldYcg%3D%3D&b=t%3A-6sH4uy_9dNKCnNg27FeRg&p=http%3A%2F%2Fohbelieveyoume.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F160208097472%2Fanons-requested-emcee-headcanon-qa&m=1) \- Ruth Etting ( _A common ear worm for him, there’s a tendency for him to break out into this song whenever it gets too quiet, or boring._ )

* * *

  * **the one place they sometimes end up falling asleep – where they’re not supposed to**



The girls’ beds. Rarely anything carnal or anything like that, though nobody would ever know whether he’d mind a romp in the sheets or not; but he liked to wander, you know. If his room was too droll for his tastes or if he was just too drunk and bored to sit still, The EmCee would pay Lulu a visit in _her_ dressing room, or Helga, or Frenchie ( _if she was in a good mood_ ), or Rosie- whoever would open their door, really. 

And where else would he be able to appropriately lounge about, except for atop their sheets, among their pillows?

Oh, and they welcomed him. A visit from The EmCee was only a problem if he was too out of his head: but usually those were the uncommon instances, and it was easy to tell not to answer the door if the knock is preceded with his hollering from down the hall- ( _and if they intend to ignore him, they best be bright enough to lock the door; he preferred to ask forgiveness instead of permission…)_. 

Otherwise, he almost always had a fun story or new joke to share; would eagerly engage while listening to them rant and rave over the latest gossip, lament with them while they told him about the boys who were making their hearts sing ( _then, breaking them to pieces_ ), or join in talking trash about that stupid old prude who chastised them for the length of their skirts- who asked _her_ , anyway, it’s not like she’d have appreciated what was hidden underneath? 

Yet, almost always, he’d doze off to dreamland when the sun began to rise; and The EmCee would do so wherever he had found himself seated. Hence why he always goes straight to claiming their beds or the most comfortable lounger before the rendezvous or chatting sessions began- good planning.

Usually, they’d let him stay: if he was sincerely too far into the bottle to awaken, it was never hard to slither beside him and find room to sleep. He’d typically be gone by the morning anyway- or spark to life once the moon found the sky, and swat at their thighs to join the living ( _so he wouldn’t have to face it all alone_ ).

* * *

  * **the game they’d _destroy_ everyone else at**



Chess. Call it what you will; pure genius ( _his words_ ), his uncanny ability to distract and occupy others while maintaining his cool mind and composure, or maybe it’s just because he’s so vibrantly eager to begin whenever someone finally agrees to play along- good energy brings good luck, right? Some claim he cheats; but it’s not as if him prancing about and cheering ( _or kicking the chair, hollering a demand for a cigarette, cursing their names and their future children_ ) is by any means out of the ordinary. Even when playing chess- he’s rarely sitting still for long, but at least he makes certain to never disturb the table during his romps.

> _He didn’t even knock. “Please, Rosie?”  
> _
> 
> _“No.” Without even looking away from her vanity; she knew it was him helping his way into her room, and upon considering how it started with begging- she knew precisely why he was there. “You cheat.”_
> 
> _“You can’t cheat at chess, Rosie, it’s a game of **love** , of smarts!” He continued begging, even went to setting up the board atop the little metal table even though he hadn’t convinced her to join him yet. “ **Didn’t you hear about the Slovak who found a wife?** ”_
> 
> _Oh, she **hated**  encouraging him, but of course her darling Lulu cheered along to the prompt from her spot across the room. “No, Em, I’ve not- what about him?” _
> 
> _He knew he loved that Lulu, The EmCee laughed at his own joke before even delivering the punch line-  “ **Why, darling, he had FOUND HIS CZECH-MATE!** ” Arms flew to the air before he took a bow, nearly knocking his forehead against the chair on his way down. “ **THANK YOU! Thank you.** ” Only Lulu clapped._
> 
> _Unamused Rosie ignored him, and the rampant giggling that came from her lovely little lady friend on the chaise. “Em, darling, if you’re so smart, I’m sure you know-” she blew a few rings of smoke, waited for him to wriggle brows and prop himself up with a foot on the seat of the chair he had claimed. “ **How many real squares are there on a chess board when playing?** ”_
> 
> _Real squares? Of course, he knew there were actually 64, but that was too easy. Curiously, he squint his stare, to closer examine the game he had laid out. Even Lulu lifted herself with hands on the cushions, began mumbling quietly while counting all the spaces in their game._
> 
> _“I dunno, Rosie;” The EmCee bent at the waist, leaned in so he could snatch her cigarette from between her lips and take some puffs of his own. “How many real squares are there on a chess board?”  
> _
> 
> _That smile should have been warning enough, but he’d already let her go too far to turn back now. “ **Two,** ” Rosie let him keep the smoke, rocked forward to avoid the burning cherry and leave an innocent kiss on his nose. “ **Plus the spectators.** ”_
> 
> _Silence: It took Lulu a moment to comprehend the joke and The EmCee did not appear amused. Did she really just call him a fuckin’ square? _His pout only came out after a swift swig from his flask.__
> 
> _“I didn’t want to play with you anyway,” in one swoop of his arm, he shoved the little pieces he had been diligently arranging back into the box, snatched up the game board to tuck precariously under his arm. And with that, he dismissed himself just as quickly as he had appeared, taking only a single detour to leave a kiss over snickering Lulu’s hair. “Nobody likes a sourpuss.”_

* * *

  * **the emoticon they’d use most often**



The champagne bottle, the bunny rabbit, and all of the little fireworks.

* * *

  * **what they act like when they haven’t had enough sleep**



Delirious. 

Of course, sweet EmCee doesn’t require much in terms of sleep, but if something has kept him from his beauty rest for far too long: you can tell from his rampant giggling at not even the so-bad-they’re-funny jokes, how his swagger falters ever so slightly into a bouncy subtle skip/tumble, or the way his banter begins to slur together without the assistance of gin. 

* * *

  * **their preferred hot beverage on really cold nights. or mornings. or whenever.**



While he’s always a fan of coffee upon waking- The EmCee has a penchant for warm cider; it reminds him of simpler times where everything was truly beautiful, even outside the walls of their Kit Kat Klub.

Also, warm cider and bourbon tastes great with some honey and an apple slice. A dancer who had moved along to bigger and better things shared one with him once; he’d been hooked ever since.

* * *

  * **how they like to comfort/care for themselves when they’re in a slump**



Gin. Lots of gin. From his hidden bottle, from behind the bar, from the girls if they felt generous enough and he had run out. He’s **awful** at taking care of himself, and usually it required a bit of prompting ( _or pitiful praise_ ) to pull him from his rut…

> _“… Em?” Little Helga knocked on his door, leaned against the wood when she didn’t immediately hear a response. “Em, we’ve been waitin’ for ya; Em, won’t you come on out, please?” Of course they had collectively decided during rehearsal to send her to find what state he was in- usually, he doted on the youngest of their group. “I miss ya.” She claimed to be his favorite._
> 
> _Footsteps; smartly, she rocked herself off the entrance just before he threw it open. His makeup was running, it appeared he’d been crying, and his hair was in all sorts of disarray. From behind him, billowing smoke fell out into the hallway- Helga coughed to try and find fresh air, The EmCee blew a smoke ring above her head._
> 
> _“To whaaat do I owe the pleasure?” The way he said it definitely did not make it seem like he considered it to be much of a pleasure at all. “Can you all not do high kicks or grapevines without me? Remember your notes? You’re a big girl, you’ll manage-”_
> 
> _Benevolently, despite his berating, Helga reached forward to cup his face in her palm, just long enough to run her thumb over those high cheek bones. “Em, you know, you’re always so lovely-” she smiled sweetly, he only chewed harder on his cigarette. “Only you could craft sadness into a work of art. You’re the best, Em, we love you.”_
> 
> _As if she had managed to slip the key and drop his guard, The Grand Master of Ceremonies wilted just slightly; slouched against the door frame for support, nuzzled his face into her hand. In this uncharacteristic moment of relief, he sighed, closed tired lids and somehow managed to steady his breathing._
> 
> _Before she could do much else in terms of comfort- he burst to life before her eyes. A new wave of energy stiffened his spine back to standing, he twist his neck to pepper that kindly hand of hers with an assault of crimson kisses; Helga giggled while welcoming all the paint he’d decorate her touch with, hoped his adoration would stay embedded in her fingerprints._
> 
> _This was The EmCee: the energy, the life blood, the commander of the cabaret; her Hero._
> 
> _And now, he was back._
> 
> _“Give me ten, fix your strap,” he fluttered fingertips in her face, efficiently dismissing her from his dressing room. “I’ll be at the stage in moments, and you all best be ready,” just before he disappeared around a corner of his room, he aimed an authoritative finger her way; because I am not in the mood to have my toes stepped on, and you know what happens to baaaad giiiirls.”_

* * *

  * **what they wanted to be when they grew up**



Ever since he was a child; The EmCee knew he’d be a Master of something.

What, exactly, was always the hard part- yet he’d always demanded an audience. Attention was important, how to stand out, how to command your presence be taken seriously. He’d sold candies to school children as a child, and scalped tickets once his teen years came- a silver tongue does wonders even if you’re not trying to woo the ladies. 

Politics became a thought. Not for long, though. Even he wasn’t that awful.

Of course, he’d considered how grand it would be to fill a concert hall with his fans, and someone once suggested he look into film; he’d actually first gone to a cabaret club in order to meet with a gentleman promising bright lights and fame. 

Em had been far too busy, however, admiring the aesthetic chaos that was the cabaret show… He’d become a regular rather quickly, chatted up performers and musicians until he was adored by all…

Which is why, he slid so comfortably and effortlessly into his role once it was presented to him, as; The Master of Ceremonies.

* * *

  * **their favorite kind of weather**



Winter. Mostly because he was quite proud of his joke: “ _In here, it is so hot, every night was have to wrastle with the girls to keep them from taking allll their clooothes off,”_ but also because it was much more fun to hide his attire under heavy jackets than it was to give everything away in hopes of surviving the heat… and whatever’s more _fun_  is what’s important, after all.

* * *

  * **thoughts on their singing voice (decent? terrible? soprano? alto?)**



Why would you wanna hear my thoughts when you can _[**see for yourself**](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D2Perr5aCINY&t=MTA5ZmExZGZkNDdlMWI3NWRhYzM2ODk2YzUxZGEwNzFjMjI4MWVkYyxYaE90VldYcg%3D%3D&b=t%3A-6sH4uy_9dNKCnNg27FeRg&p=http%3A%2F%2Fohbelieveyoume.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F160208097472%2Fanons-requested-emcee-headcanon-qa&m=1)_?  
 _“Willkommen! Bienvenue! Welcome! Fremder, étranger, stranger…”_

* * *

  * **how/what they like to draw or doodle**



_Little hearts_ and _fancy cursive-printed-profanities_ : almost always left on miscellaneous dressing room mirrors or bathroom stalls. If he’d be left alone too long and was given enough time to dig for a pretty lipstick in a drawer, there was a good chance whatever girl had put him in such a predicament would come back to find cruel words beautifully penned in their favorite shade across the glass. Now, he wasn’t allowed near their favorites. 

In his proclaimed defense: They shouldn’t keep him waiting.


End file.
